


Space Lunchables

by Exorbit



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorbit/pseuds/Exorbit
Summary: “What…” Shiro audibly swallows. “Uh. What have you got there, buddy?”Keith takes a shaky breath. Inhale, exhale. He counts down from ten – “My mom… my mom made me lunch.”





	Space Lunchables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vantas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vantas/gifts).



See, in the end, it’s not really all Krolia’s fault.

She’s an alien, an alien from a hyper-advanced race, an alien with different customs. Humans are different. Human children have to be reared differently from Galra children.

Things get more – complicated, when you consider the situation in which child is over the pinnacle of adulthood. The situation where the child was left behind on their home planet for nearly two decades, having neither head nor tail of his mother during that span of time. The aftermath of said decision, which lead the grown child to be in space, with said alien mother.

And the grown-up child is too… shy, awkward, to even attempt to mend the gap.

Krolia decides, one day, that she will make the first step. After all, as a mother, it’s her responsibility. However, she needs advice. Human, Galra, different races with different methods of _mending the gap_. Who can she ask?

None better than the first non-Keith human she comes across, she supposes. And they’re not exactly hard to find here.

“Paladin,” she asks. “Stop,” she commands.

One human specimen, in the form of a lanky Lance McClain, screeches to a halt.

He blinks – one eye at a time. Is that a normal feature for humans, she wonders. “Yessir, er, m’am. What can I do for you?”

“I am having…” Krolia pinches her index finger. Grits her teeth. “I’m having some difficulty with my son. Keith,” she clarifies, for some reason.

Lance visibly relaxes; sets himself against the wall. “Oh, tell me about it. I’m all ears.”

She squints, trying to see if all that flesh is really external ear cartilage. Why hadn’t Keith ever mentioned that? That’s just, disturbing, isn’t it? Perhaps that’s why…

Thankfully the horrifying train of thought is interrupted by Lance. “I _mean_ , go ahead. What’s up?” 

“You must understand. We have been separated for a long period of time.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“This is the first time he even remembers seeing me.”

“Sure.”

“Now that we’re free from the battlefield, what is a mother to do?”

“What _can_ you do?”

Krolia openly stares. “Do you not understand that this is why I came to you?”

Lance raises a hand. “Sorry. Do continue, I swear that I have all the wisdom that you could ever need.”

Sparing him due investigation, Krolia continues. “How do I let Keith know that I truly care for him? How can we possibly make up for all the time that we have lost? You don’t think that he’ll never see me as mother fi—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Both of Lance’s hands are up. He makes a _rewind_ motion. “Alright. Listen, Keith’s a tough nut to cra…” Lance cuts himself off with a sigh. “Okay, so he’s different, sure. But it’s the same as showing anyone that you care, right? You just gotta, bond with him.”

“Bond,” Krolia echoes. Lance bobs his head.

“Yeah. You feel pretty bad about missing out on his childhood, huh?” Krolia does what she believes to be a decent mimicry of a head-bob.

“So, then, do stuff that moms do with their kids. Spend time together. Give him thoughtful gifts. Make meals. All in the nature of bonding,” he finishes with a gesticulating flourish.

“Bonding…” Krolia murmurs. “I see. Do you think this will work?”

“M’am, let me say… on this one, you have to trust me. Keith _loves_ bonding moments.” 

*****

An ex-paladin walks into a bar…

Quite literally. Keith steers himself into the dining hall blind, only to collide with the serving post. The sound is enough that Shiro comes out from the other side, purely to make sure that his boyfriend is okay –

Just in time to see Keith place the lunch pail on top of the bar.

It – Shiro is immediately boggled – it has a Hello Kitty design on it. He’s immediately fixated by her tantalizing gaze. Keith coughs, just barely breaking him out of it.

“Hey there,” Keith says, looking at anything that isn’t Shiro or Hello Kitty.

“Hi,” Shiro says back. Manages to forcibly rip himself away from the pail’s familiar design. Except, he notes, that there is a big red-and-white ribbon at the edge of it. 

“I’m just going to,” Keith gestures to his lunchbox. “Eat lunch. I thought maybe alone would be good.”

 _We can’t avoid this forever_ , Shiro realizes at the exact same moment Keith does. Keith’s face flushes, embarrassment prevalent before the question.

“What…” Shiro audibly swallows. “Uh. What have you got there, buddy?”

Keith takes a shaky breath. Inhale, exhale. He counts backwards from ten – “My mom… my mom made me lunch.”

“ _Keith, does Sanrio even exist in space_?”

Flagrantly so, Keith totally abandons the notion of staying calm.

“I don’t know! She, handed me this? Before I went to the training deck? I don’t know where she got it, or why she got it. I was going to look inside of it before I asked anything. Maybe it’s a joke! Maybe she has a really weird sense of humor,” he says, tone desperate.

“So,” Shiro swallows, again. “Open it?”

“…okay,” and Keith just pries open a corner before slamming it back down. “No.”

“Keith,” he tries to make his voice nice, and calm, and peaceful. Reassuring. “Open?”

“There is a note.”

“She left you a note?”

“I think I saw a heart,” Keith adds. It looks like he’s one more motherly gesture from crying. Shiro really, really does not want to ask if it’s from humiliation, or if he’s genuinely touched by the lunchbox and the goodies within. Either option is – not good.  

“Do you want me to look for you.” Keith nods his head so fast, Shiro’s worries it’s about to fall off. “Okay – slide it over here. I promise I won’t laugh.”

Hello Kitty spins to Shiro. The look was of humiliation, then.

Shiro takes great pains to bring it into his lap, far away from Keith’s eyes, and pops the lid open. Sans, of course, the corner with the strewn bow.

 _I love your mom_ is his first and immediate thought. Not great, especially because they’re not even in-laws yet. But who could resist the thrall of lunchables, cookies, a thing of juice. Admittedly, it’s same kind of space juice stored on the ship, but it’s the thought that counts.

Oh, and the handwritten note. Presumably Krolia’s, if the signature is anything to go off of.

“What does it say,” Keith chokes out.

“Nothing.”

“Shiro.”

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow together. _Think_. Is this the best thing to do? Keith will kill him if he doesn’t tell. Does he even have a choice? “It says… she says that she wants to see you in the longue after dinner tonight. To, talk about your day.”

“Oh, God.” Shiro looks up from the lunchables to see Keith clawing welts his forehead. Not good. Very not good. “My mother hates me, doesn’t she?”

“She does not.” He reaches out and – with a lot of effort, he realizes – pulls Keith’s arms back. Cups a hand in his, runs his thumb over Keith’s rough palm. “She isn’t making fun of you, baby,” he says, with a Hello Kitty lunchbox resting in his lap.

“She must think that I’m a _child_. An actual baby.”

Shiro makes himself remember something vital. Patience yields focus. “Look… it’s probably because maturity is different for us. Galra take a long time,” he says, bullshitting it on the spot, “so, in her eyes, you are younger. Krolia’s not meaning for it to be an insult. It shows that she cares and she’s taking you into consideration.”

Softly, Keith rests his head on the cool, cool metal. Shiro softens the lines in his hand. “’m not a child.”

“You’re not,” Shiro agrees.

“Do you think it’ll make her feel bad if I correct her?” Keith asks. It, gives Shiro pause, it is a good question.

“I think it’ll be okay. Just, follow through what she wants for now, talk to her after dinner. That’ll be fun, right?”

The smile hurts his face. Keith is clearly uncomfortable.

“Fun.” Keith tries the word on his tongue akin to taste-testing poison. “Sure.”

*****

In truth, Shiro never hears about the mother-son conversation. Actually, he doesn’t hear from Keith whatsoever. That raises various concerns, namely of the vanishing act type, but Shiro makes himself sleeps it off _. Worry about it in the morning._

Because, really. Keith just had a traumatizing exper– a nice, familial moment with his absentee mother. He should give the two of them some emotional space. 

Morning arrives. Shiro wakes up alone, unsurprisingly, disappointingly. _Give him some time_ , he reminds himself. _Don’t be the clingy boyfriend. Sure, he came back to the ship to spend time with_ you _specifically, but his mother’s in the picture now too._

_Patience… yields focus._

But upon the absence of a good-old fashioned Keith greeting at the breakfast table, he decides he really ought to check the escape pods. God, Krolia will wring Shiro's neck if Keith really did skedaddle. For the nth time. 

None of the jets are missing and the mileage checks out from previous logs. So, good, he hadn’t run away in fear. If the universe hasn’t gone askew, Keith and his mother are bound to be somewhere in the castle.

By Shiro’s calculations, there’s one person and four furry creatures that would have any inkling towards their precise location.

Unfortunately he can’t speak the Altean language nor its variant in the mice, so his list is restricted to just Allura.

“Princess,” he waves at the screen. She’s in the middle of _something_ , so he’s an inch away from the proper exit motion and a ‘talk to you later,’ but he’s reasonably interrupted when her foot reaches out by the corner and kicks a gladiator off screen.

“Hello, Shiro!” Allura is beaming, disregarding the ample sweat on her face. “How—” the bot reappears and makes an effort to grapple for her shoulder, but ultimately it is no match for her elbow. “Are you?” 

“…I can call back.”

“No, no, please stay! This is – ha – great exercise! Communicating and, fighting at the same time, what a wonderful,” her heel skids on the ground and Shiro is boggled by how she remains upright, “idea, we must try this with the other paladins, don’t you think? But, _shit_ , what is going on?”

“Who taught you how to cur…” Lance. Why even ask. “Nevermind. I had another question in mind, actually.”

Tilting his head so that it’s outside the camera’s range, Shiro quickly rubs his temple. “I was wondering if you knew where Keith or Krolia were. I didn’t see them at breakfast.”

“Oh!” Because the camera is implemented on one’s arm, Shiro can’t tell for sure, but he thinks her leg rears up to kick a bot away.

“Keith’s mother was just asking Coran for some sewing materials! Check,” her free hand grabs at a gladiator – Shiro closes his eyes in pity as she flings it halfaway across the training room – “by the closets! Coran can show you!”

“Thanks,” he says, already swiping out. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Farewell!” The two-way screen flickers out of existence with a _blip_. Free of judgment, Shiro holds his head in his hands.

Sowing, he thinks. _Sowing_.

Lord, oh lord, what else is Krolia going to bring to the table?

He brings his hands together, draws them into the crease of his lap. And very, very quietly, he hopes aloud. “Please, nothing that’ll make Keith cry this time.”

*****

Unfortunately for Keith, everyone is present at the dinner table.

It’s the same table as the breakfast table, so Keith has no escape routes available there.

And – it is everyone. Coran, Hunk, Lance, Pidge, Shiro… the mice. His mother. She’s absentmindedly poking at whatever Coran’s whipped up for them; ‘whatever’ as the meal is little more than a blob of vibrant colors and clashing patterns.

Obviously, her interest is not in the food. Is she really making him do this? This is multitudes worse than the Blade of Marmora initiation. To be fair, it’s infinitely worse.

In the back of his head, he’s constantly thinking about how itchy the sweater is. It scratches at the crook of his shoulder and neck, because of course, it had to be a turtleneck design. But it’s sown with love… he gags in spite of his own reassurance, okay, no, it’s a test. _Show her how much you’re willing to give this bond a go._

“I can’t do this,” he confirms to himself. He turns on his heel, to subject himself to the worst kind of torment, motherly torment upon his failure as a son.

“Keith!” He freezes. Pidge. “Hang on, where do you think you’re going? We haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Pidge,” hisses someone – Shiro – and there’s a short, inaudible conversation. He hears something along the lines of ‘I told you not to’ and whiny noises from Pidge.

 _No, why, Shiro’s betrayed me_ , Keith realizes. The shame burns in his stomach, ready to boil – but if Pidge knows, if they’ve told, they’re prepared for it regardless.

Imagining everyone else with their pants off won’t help matters, but thinking of it as a really bad, elementary school play does.  All the world’s a stage and Keith has resigned himself to playing Booboo the Fool.

He saunters in, head held high, high enough to see the exact moment everyone’s eyes drift from Keith’s face to the sweater.

“Hey,” he greets; Lance is mouthing the word ‘heart’. Heart, a clear reference to the shape that’s been painstakingly stitched into the base of the sweater.

“Hey, dude,” Hunk has brought his hands over his face in a pseudo-praying position. “How… how are you.”

“I’m fine.” Keith pulls out a chair and sits down away from everyone else. Shiro looks pained by this, and Keith hopes his glare is getting the idea of, _me being here_ , _this is all your fault_. “How are you?”

“What unique fashion,” Allura says, stopping Hunk in his tracks. “I’ve never seen any of you wear this type of clothing before. Is this a special occasion outfit for humans?”

“Ah, Princess.” Keith feels his head snap to where his mother is sitting. She’s – smiling. Yay. “This is what I made with your fabric. I appreciate it.”

“How _did_ you get it so fuzzy?” Coran muses. The pair of them really get into an amazingly animated conversation, considering one of the participants is Krolia, and Keith almost uses the distraction to melt into the floorboards.

But on the opposing end of the table is Shiro, who’s reenacting a kicked puppy. To outright display his pathetic state of being would be putting salt in the wound; Keith makes his back stiff and dead-on stares at the food. He doesn’t try to listen to Krolia or Coran, but when she offers to show Coran how she made it –

“And will you teach me how to make the letter stitching as well?” Coran asks. Drawing everyone’s attention, again, to the sweater; a heart in the middle with a _K_ upfront.

“I also added pockets,” Krolia says with too many shades of pride. Why. Why has God forsaken Keith Kogane. “It’s dangerous out here, you know. Better that he hides the sheath versus putting in his belt.”

“You made him pockets in his sweater for his weapons,” Pidge asks, to clarify. His mother bobs her head.

Hunk’s chair screeches as he catapults it backwards. “That’s it, I’m o—I mean, oh, wow, I’ve got so many updates to make on the Yellow Lion, guys, like you wouldn’t believe. It really is unbelievable. Won’t you help me, Pidge?” Hunk pleads, pleadingly, and Pidge joins him in remarkable time.

“Yeah, of course.” Hunk’s hand hovers dangerously close to her mouth – dangerous for him, because she is a little sister, and Keith’s heard some stories from Matt. “I’ll see you guys later.” Although Hunk’s hand is a good cover, her snickers manage to filter through.

“We should be off as well,” Krolia announces. Keith is giving himself whiplash. “If you want to learn how to sow, Coran.”

“Postutively-absolutely.”

Shiro corrects him. It’s a force of habit. “Positively.”

“I quite like the happy atmosphere in here,” Coran says. “It’s very charming. Oh, and Keith, it looks good on you.” They leave, Coran waving and Krolia poking around at her own dashboard.

Lance mutters under his breath. “… hey, Allura,” Allura pretends like she was paying attention and acknowledges her head, “I was wondering, can you show me the bayard thing you were talking about? The who _o_ sh?”

She hums, thoughtfully. “Well, it’s the hoo _sh_ , but sure. Do you want to go now?”

“Not right now.” Shiro and Keith share a look. Peripheral vision look, but a look nonetheless. “I’ll be down there after I finish eating. Looking forward to it.”

Keith begins a mental countdown. Seconds until Allura exits out the door, seconds from the door sliding. He shuts his eyes and listens to Allura stand, _five_ , say her goodbyes, _three_ , and her exit.

 _One_ –

“What the fuck.”

“Swear jar, Lance.” Shiro is scraping his fork against his plate.

He sniffs, absurdly loud. “I don’t have any GAC. But, Keith. Surely the Ronald Weasley shirt was too much to ask for?”

“I didn’t ask!” One of Lance’s eyebrows quirks up. “She – just up and gave me it last night, okay?”

“Is that why you didn’t come to the bedroom yesterday,” Shiro questions, making himself louder due to Lance’s peals of laughter.

“She voluntarily made you a onesie,” Lance says in between his wheezes.

“It’s a sweater!” Keith, irrationally, shoots back. At this point, he must be the color of a tomato.

“With pockets?!”

“Look, I get that she wants to,” Keith air quotes, “bond, but am I right that this is too much? This is too much, right?”

Lance’s head hits the back of his chair. “Ow – haha, she’s trying to bond with you? She’s really trying to have a bonding moment with you,” he smacks the table, both hands down.

Still across the table, sits Shiro. He has a thumb going around in circles around his forehead, as if there’s a dent there. “We really ought to ban that word, too.”

“I have to say,” Lance chokes on his own words, “I’m sorry.”

Very calmly, Shiro eyeballs him. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you have to say you’re sorry?”

“…sssssympathy,” Lance tries. Shiro stands up. “My cond-duhlesences.”

“You wouldn’t have anything to do with this,” Shiro’s chair straight-up, nails the ground. Keith is getting flustered for a very different reason right now. “Would you, Lance? You wouldn’t do something like that. You wouldn’t strain Keith’s relationship with his mother as a joke, would you?”  

“Oh wow would you look at the time. I really ought to go see Allura in the training sim now, right? Keith? Keith, my buddy, am I right?”

“Run,” Keith offers. “He doesn’t like sleeping alone.”

Lance darts out of the dining hall, screaming the whole way. “IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDING! IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDING!” Keith entertains himself by spearing the blob with his fork – just barely listening to the telltale whirl of Shiro’s prosthetic.

“He’ll be fine,” he says to himself. “Shiro really wouldn’t…” Keith sighs and almost digs his heels in.

“I better go after them.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry.
> 
>  


End file.
